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Good lord. I ought to just start liveblogging my PMS Movie Adventures, because it seems that my reproductive organs have taken my blasé attitude toward them as a CHALLENGE. The last few lycanthropic cycles have been a tour de force of hormones messin’ with my head.
This month, I could feel it coming on. Now, you may recall that last time I was in this quadrant of the month a goddamn Tinker Bell movie made me cry, and I am not just taking a crack at the bad voice acting.* A throwaway joke honestly made me choke up. But even though I was an emotional minefield, I still wanted to watch a movie. “So,” I asked myself, “to avoid this problem, what is the EXACT OPPOSITE of Tinker Bell?”
The answer, obviously, is David Cronenberg.**
So I figured I’d watch the ’80s version of The Fly, as I’d only seen the ’50s version with Vincent Price before. Slimed-up remakes of old-timey sci-fi, like Invasion of the Body Snatchers or The Thing, may inspire a lot of emotions, but weepy sniffles aren’t among them.***
And such was the case, mostly. Then I got to the end, and Howard Shore had attached a tender love theme to the bittersweet moment when Geena Davis blasts Jeff Goldblum’s grossly deformed head clean off with a shotgun, and my body chemistry was all “THIS IS MOVIE IS THE SADDEST EVER MADE. Also, disgusting.”
And that’s how I found myself misty-eyed over the kind of movie that normally makes my black little heart go “Hooray for body horror!” How do I know it was the hormones responding? Because the teleBrundlepodfly didn’t make me think “What a horrific fate!” but rather “I WILL TAKE IT HOME AND CALL IT GEORGE, BECAUSE THAT HIDEOUS MISERABLE AGONIZED THING IS ADORABLE. Also, disgusting.” Which I’m pretty sure would not be my response the OTHER 75% of the time. But I suppose my responses then would be far less entertaining, too.
So! Tinker Bell and David Cronenberg are out. Let’s experiment and see what unlikely movies’ll make me cry next month! Any recommendations?
*Dear Rob Paulsen: Yes, even you. I expect this kind of bullshit from Jesse McCartney, but you are a voice acting king, my friend. I'd expect you to do at least a passable Scottish accent, but let's face it, the one you're working here is about on par with Eddie Izzard's attempt at an American accent. You may want to practice, is what I'm saying.
**Other acceptable answers: Stanley Kubrick, Jason Statham, the Alien Queen, Batman.
***Although a certain level of discomfort is. What is with so many ’80s movies’ commitment to staggeringly creepy gender dynamics? I seriously want to call the police while I watch.
This month, I could feel it coming on. Now, you may recall that last time I was in this quadrant of the month a goddamn Tinker Bell movie made me cry, and I am not just taking a crack at the bad voice acting.* A throwaway joke honestly made me choke up. But even though I was an emotional minefield, I still wanted to watch a movie. “So,” I asked myself, “to avoid this problem, what is the EXACT OPPOSITE of Tinker Bell?”
The answer, obviously, is David Cronenberg.**
So I figured I’d watch the ’80s version of The Fly, as I’d only seen the ’50s version with Vincent Price before. Slimed-up remakes of old-timey sci-fi, like Invasion of the Body Snatchers or The Thing, may inspire a lot of emotions, but weepy sniffles aren’t among them.***
And such was the case, mostly. Then I got to the end, and Howard Shore had attached a tender love theme to the bittersweet moment when Geena Davis blasts Jeff Goldblum’s grossly deformed head clean off with a shotgun, and my body chemistry was all “THIS IS MOVIE IS THE SADDEST EVER MADE. Also, disgusting.”
And that’s how I found myself misty-eyed over the kind of movie that normally makes my black little heart go “Hooray for body horror!” How do I know it was the hormones responding? Because the teleBrundlepodfly didn’t make me think “What a horrific fate!” but rather “I WILL TAKE IT HOME AND CALL IT GEORGE, BECAUSE THAT HIDEOUS MISERABLE AGONIZED THING IS ADORABLE. Also, disgusting.” Which I’m pretty sure would not be my response the OTHER 75% of the time. But I suppose my responses then would be far less entertaining, too.
So! Tinker Bell and David Cronenberg are out. Let’s experiment and see what unlikely movies’ll make me cry next month! Any recommendations?
*Dear Rob Paulsen: Yes, even you. I expect this kind of bullshit from Jesse McCartney, but you are a voice acting king, my friend. I'd expect you to do at least a passable Scottish accent, but let's face it, the one you're working here is about on par with Eddie Izzard's attempt at an American accent. You may want to practice, is what I'm saying.
**Other acceptable answers: Stanley Kubrick, Jason Statham, the Alien Queen, Batman.
***Although a certain level of discomfort is. What is with so many ’80s movies’ commitment to staggeringly creepy gender dynamics? I seriously want to call the police while I watch.
